


Justification

by reviloo



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Brief Mention of Blood, Brief Mention of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 00:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reviloo/pseuds/reviloo
Summary: "Eddy’s weary face was nearly invisible, and Brett wasn’t sure if he was grateful to be unable to see the exhaustion and fear."Brett witnesses the entire world fall apart as the apocalypse begins, with Eddy right by his side.
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56





	Justification

_ “What would a virus sound like?” _ _  
_ _ “Oh my god-” _

_ Flight of the Bumblebee - Rimsky-Korsakov _

The rain was pelting down on the car as the duo drove further and further away from Sydney.

Brett hummed and glanced back at the rearview mirror. In the back of the car was Eddy, his tall frame curled up on the seats and a pair of arms wrapped around his bloodied violin case. His breathing was soft for the first time in days, if not weeks; his face looked like an icon of peace even though his stained clothing suggested otherwise.

In front of them were emptied cars and cracks littering the road. Brett frowned as he stepped on the brakes as gently as he could, always remembering to keep an eye on the boy in the back. Despite the danger that loomed behind them, the last thing he wanted to do was wake Eddy up with sudden swerves and sharp bumps. Both of them needed a good night’s sleep, he admitted, and he would make sure Eddy got his.

As they began to drive into the countryside, Brett’s eyes peeled off of Eddy and stared, wide-eyed, at the road ahead. The last thing he wanted to see were figures in the distance, figures that moved awkwardly with peeling skin and blood dripping down their chin, figures that would rush toward any sound and light there was to kill. The more he drove, the more his hands shook and gripped the wheel, for he could be responsible for Eddy’s death any second now if he wasn’t careful.

He shut off the headlights and bit his lip. Hopefully, fate was on their side.

* * *

_“_ _If you had to depict what it’s like to think, what piece of music would you play?” _

_ Sonata for Two Violins in A minor, I. Poco lento, maestoso - Allegro fermo - Ysaye _

Cold rations and snacks from the nearby pharmacy were all Brett had in his bag.

“How did you get the dried food?” Eddy’s eyebrows were raised as he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, his hands wrapped around a small package of crackers. They were in an abandoned house for the night, with the car outside and the candle in between them flickering dimly; Eddy’s weary face was nearly invisible, and Brett wasn’t sure if he was grateful to be unable to see the exhaustion and fear.

He shrugged. “Stole it. The army base had their rations out in the open.”

“Hm.” Eddy frowned. “They couldn’t even protect food properly, and we expected them to protect us properly. No wonder everyone died.”

His voice carried a bitter undertone to it, cracking once he hit the last few words. Brett stayed silent, putting a cracker in his mouth and looking into the darkness for the one person that his entire life began to revolve around after news of the virus spread. 

“Remember when we thought uni was stressful?”

Eddy scoffed as he reached into his package for more crackers. “Yeah. Remember when everyone was complaining about the workload? How everyone said it was so much work that they wanted to kill themselves?”

“Oh, yeah.” In the limited light, Brett could see a small grin linger on his face. Brett frowned at the sight; it was one that carried more weight to it than his carefree grin from a few days ago. “How can I not remember music conservatory burnout?”

“If you forgot, I would have been disappointed.”

“I would have, too.”

Eddy sighed. He turned away from Brett to glance at their violin cases on the side. They were covered in dirt and blood and - _ god _ \- who knew what, but Brett had to admire how Eddy’s entire gaze lightened at the sight of them. That despite him burning out in university, despite him losing all of his friends and family, and despite him being on the run every single day, Eddy cared more about the violins than he did anything else.

Brett only wished he could say the same. He watched as the flame began to dull and flicker out, taking Eddy’s calm features away with it and plunging them into darkness.

* * *

_“What would be the last piece you want to play for the rest of your life, if you can never touch the violin again?” _

_ Violin Concerto in D minor, II. Adagio di molto - Sibelius _

“Eddy, you’re a dumbass.”

Brett had tears running down his face as he carried the heavier man to a quieter place in the basement, where all of their gear hid. He was breathless when he set Eddy down on a white table, watching as the blood from his wound spilled all over the plastic and the floor. His hands shook; there was no denying that he wasn’t mentally prepared to deal with his impending future.

Eddy let out a groan. “Shut up. I know that. Now hurry up and get out of here.”

“I’m not going to go-”

“I’m going to die. I’m gone. You don’t need to die with me.”

Brett took a breath. His eyes couldn’t meet Eddy’s right now, instead choosing to focus on the bite marks and scratches on his leg. “Y-You have a few hours. I’ll wait with you until then.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “Brett, go. You know it’s different for everyone. I could change in fifteen minutes. I could-”

“Did I not make it clear? I’m not going.”

Silence.

“Fine.”

Brett sighed as he waddled over to their bags and violins. His mind was running with whatever just happened in the last twenty minutes, now a blur to his throbbing head. They were looking for food in the market. They were ambushed. He put his head in his hands, shutting his eyes and shoving the thoughts of what happened afterwards out of his head, to no avail.

If anything, he should have been the one to die, not Eddy. It was his fault for not checking if his weapon safety was on or off, and most certainly his fault for panicking and being unable to do anything as one of those monsters chased him down in the halls. It was his fault for being cornered and for struggling to fight with a chair until Eddy had shown up and took things into his own hands by physically fighting the zombie with a kitchen knife.

And here they were.

He swallowed, the lump in his throat growing by the second. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize to Eddy. He tried before, when he was carrying Eddy down to their base, but something told him the last thing Eddy wanted to hear was an apology, and Brett would respect his wishes. A few shaky breaths later, he took Eddy’s bag and his violin case closer to the pained man on the table.

“Do you want anything?” Brett’s eyes were still looking at the ground. “Crackers? Some dried ramen?”

Eddy leaned his head back on the cold table. “T-This is ridiculous, but can you pass me my violin?”

“Your violin?”

“Yeah.” He took a sharp breath. “Do you think zombies can play the violin? Or will this be my last time?”

Brett didn’t say anything as he unpacked Eddy’s case and handed him the instrument. It glinted in the sunlight that filtered through the window; his violin was the only thing untarnished in this entire room. It was pure, pristine, and devoid of dirt and blood, unlike the two shaking figures that stood in the middle of the room. Brett flinched at the sight of Eddy’s red hands staining the strings and the bow hair, but Eddy didn’t seem to mind as he struggled to sit up.

He shut his eyes and put the bow on the strings.

Each note that he drew from the strings echoed throughout the entire basement, leaving behind traces of sorrow and despair in the air. There was a darkness to his Sibelius that made Brett jolt awake and finally spare a glance at Eddy’s face.

His eyes were shut. His skin was pale and almost transparent. The sunlight reflected his hair and all of his features, from the sharp jawline to the furrowed brows to the sunken cheeks and immense concentration that Eddy was pouring into the piece. Brett lost his footing once he saw the tear stains that covered his face and the fresh scratch that trailed from the side of his face to his forehead; he found himself unable to control any of his emotions as he fell against the wall.

_ I’m sorry. _

Eddy continued to play, unable to hear what Brett wasn’t saying.

* * *

_“What piece would you like to hear at your funeral?” _  
_ “Oh my god-” _  
_ “Change it up.” _ _  
_“Oh my god… um…”

_ Violin Sonata, I. Allegro vivo - Debussy _

Being alone in the apocalypse was a new experience for Brett.

He leaned his back against the wall of the empty apartment, being sure the door was locked and the windows were shut before pulling out Eddy’s violin. It didn’t feel right to leave Eddy without the object he prized the most, but he had insisted on giving Brett his violin.

_ “In that case, I’ll leave you with mine.” _

_ “...Fine.” _

There was still dried blood staining the varnish, and Brett brushed that off with a flick of his wrist. He bit his cheek at the sight of the two fine tuners down below and the mute on the D and G strings, at the things that made this instrument special to Eddy. His cheeks were still stained with the dried tears from before; he had made a promise to stop crying and to get over it, to survive and keep pushing on.

_ “I don’t care if I’m going to die. Brett, look at me, please.” _

_ Brett glanced up. _

_ “Keep going. Beat the apocalypse, for the both of us. Live the best life you can.” Eddy’s eyes were filled with tears. He smiled gently. “Don’t let your own emotions get in the way of your survival.” _

He took a shaky breath as he put the shoulder rest on and prepared to play. Debussy’s Violin Sonata, a piece that Eddy knew like the back of his hand and loved more than he did anything else. It was strange, holding Eddy’s violin instead of his own, but there was something about it that quelled his pounding heart and racing mind.

It sounded wrong. Everything about it sounded off, too much like _ Brett _. He shut his eyes tighter and continued to play, letting each of the notes sing to the best of his ability as his mind continued to flash with thoughts of the fallen Eddy.

_ “Remember,” Brett shivered, “when we said that we’d do anything together?” _

_ Eddy hummed. “Of course.” _

* * *

_“Dude, I thought of a different answer for my funeral, but it’s too late.” _

Sometimes, he visited the basement where Eddy transformed to see him, occasionally wandering in the basement aimlessly. Brett’s violin was still on the table, the case still covered in dried blood.

This time, he brought a knife. It had been a few months after, and he had finally gotten over the tears and nightmares that plagued him every night. There seemed to be no end to reality’s nightmare though, and Brett was starting to acknowledge that maybe this was how he would have to live for the rest of his short life.

At least he could end Eddy’s nightmare for him.

He took a step into the basement, his jaw set. The knife in his hand was already covered in blood from previous encounters with some lingering zombies outside, but Brett wanted to see Eddy’s blood on it. It would comfort him to know that he was the one who killed him, not anyone else that held little to no connection and would absolutely mutilate Eddy if given the chance. Or, even worse, if Eddy was caught by one of those labs and taken as an experiment.

(Perhaps he would then be cured, but Brett learned not to put too much faith in science and order.)

The first sound that hit him sent chills down his entire spine. He blinked, his jaw dropping, at the sound of the perfect chords and double stops at the end of the first movement of Sibelius. They were a little rough here and there, and he definitely heard the bow skid a few times, but other than that, it was absolutely flawless. It was music that only one person could play so beautifully.

There was a rougher, harsher sound that came with the last page; Brett relished it. He continued to stand at the door, unwilling to take a step forward in fear of seeing the same image that haunted him months ago, of someone on top of the white table, eyes shut and leg bloodied, playing the violin. Instead, he took a step backwards and ran out of there as fast as he could, refusing to look back as tears began to well in his eyes once more.

_ “Do you think zombies can play the violin?” _

Brett continued to run, the notes ringing through the waves in his head.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by "what musical piece do you want played at your funeral?"
> 
> thank you for reading c:


End file.
